All These Roads
by Lethalliin
Summary: "Our lives are merely pathways we choose to follow, and our choices and our actions are the crossroads we encounter. And sometimes different folks all wind up on the same pathway for different reasons." - Anonymous Four people, four pathways, one end. Nicolette, Jenovah, Magnus and Garrus's lives are all entwined by fate and choices. Will they overcome their differences, or fail?
1. Prologue

Prologue:

October 12, 2281

Nicolette frowned as she started to wake up, but soon became aware of the uncomfortable feeling in her mouth and around her wrists. Faintly she recalled a gunfight and then an explosion... Her eyes widened in realization; she had tripped a mine, and now Benny had her and the Chip.  
It was now or never; she tried to pull out of her captors' grasp, but when she felt the blunt force against her head she stopped. She was in too much pain to resist. That bomb had really done a number on her. Her whole body was wracked with a dull, throbbing pain that seemed only to grow worse with each step.  
After what seemed like an endless amount of walking, they finally stopped. One glance at the wooden markers told her exactly where they were; a graveyard. One of the Khans pushed her to her knees and pulled the gag down, hissing in her ear, "Make a sound, and I slit your throat."  
"Don't worry 'bout it. Nobody to hear it anyway," she sighed and looked at the view before her, "Except the bugs." She watched the glimmering lights of New Vegas in the distance, glittering like tiny gems. At least she had a great view.  
"You put up quite the fight," Benny chuckled, and crouched before her, grazing the back of his hand across her cheek, a look of regret and sorrow flashing briefly across his features. He sighed and rested his forehead against hers and smiled wryly. In a hushed whisper he said, "I'm sorry it had to end like this, Nikki." He cleared his throat, rose above her and wolf-whistled, "Real shame that bomb took you out."  
"Stuff it, Benny," she seethed, narrowing her eyes at him, "Just get it over with already." To think that she had cared for this man, that she had trusted him. It just proved that the Mojave was nothing but a festering pit of Cazadore larvae.  
"Now, now, Nicolette, that isn't any way to talk..." he sighed and loaded his gun, "Damn shame that we have to put you out, Kitty." He paced in front of her; in one hand he held the Platinum Chip, in the other he held his gun, "But... we can't let you live with the knowledge you have."  
Nicolette only narrowed her eyes as she glared at him coldly. She knew the risks of being a Courier. You always made more enemies than friends. Look at the Divide; at what her inconsiderate actions had caused. Truthfully, she was glad that she was going to die, to finally receive the judgement she had coming for years. She held what little of her composure she had left and stared into the distance, glancing at the Mojave one last time.  
Something soft tickled her neck and cheeks, and with a simple glance she noted that her hair had finally fallen out of the bun she had sloppily tied it into. She relaxed and faced Benny, finally happy to face her judgement.  
Benny pulled out a pair shades and covered his eyes, hiding his true feelings from the rest of the world. She heard the familiar click of the safety pin being released, and then the cold sting of the barrel of the gun against her forehead, "Goodbye, Kitty." The sound of a single gunshot resonated through the air and everything went black. But she wasn't dead. She could still faintly hear Benny's voice in the distance, could still feel the rough surface of the ground as his henchmen dragged her into the shallow grave they had dug, could still smell the fresh dirt as it slammed against her as she was buried.  
She tried to move her arms, to call out to Benny to finish the job, but her feeble attempts failed. Something in the back of her mind clawed its way through, and consumed her; fear. She was going to be buried alive, unable to call out for help or claw her way out. Karma was a real bitch; she deserved to die like this, to pay for what she did...  
Yet still she cursed him, the man who had shot her... For a moment she panicked, and tried to recall his name. No matter how hard she tried to think, the name of the man that had shot her slipped from her grasp each time. She recalled it beginning with a B, but that was it. A heavy guilt weighed down on her, and yet she couldn't recall what she had done to have felt this way. Faintly she recalled a poker chip and explosions, but their meanings escaped her. Why couldn't she remember? The fear that gripped at her chest was no longer the fear of dying; it was the fear of forgetting. Slowly, as if watching a film in reverse, her memories filed by and disappeared one by one.  
And as she felt herself slowly slip into the cold embrace of unconsciousness, she vaguely registered the feeling of being scooped up into someone's arms. Was this the end for her?

Jenovah wasn't the adventurous or curious type; in fact, unless he was told to do something, he would gladly spend his time reading pre-war books, or what little of them he could. So why he had decided to stroll through town in the middle of the night was a mystery to him. He just had this nagging feeling that something was about to happen, something that he needed to see.  
When he heard a muffled grunt and hushed whispers, he moved closer; despite the larger part of his mind that told him to leave. He saw four figures in the darkness; five men and one woman. The woman was clearly their prisoner, as she was the only one bound and gagged. Four of the other men looked dishelved, and both wore the Khans symbol on their jackets. The fifth man was well-dressed in his white checkered blazer, his eyes troubled. From his accent it was clear that the fifth man came from Vegas; it was a rare and tell-tale accent out in these parts.  
The woman struggled in a feeble attempt to free herself, but when one of the Khans hit her with the butt of his gun, she fell silent and stopped resisting. As if it had dawned on her that she was stuck, and too weak to fight. Her expression was pained, and if he looked carefully enough, he could see a nasty road rash on her whole right side.  
The sight made Jenovah's chest tighten, and he had to try his best not to call out to the men to leave the woman alone. He silenced himself, took a deep breath and followed them up the steep hill that lead to the graveyard. It took all his might not to scream out when he felt the cold, metallic hand on his shoulder.  
"What are you doing out here at this wee hour, Jen?" the cowboy face was a welcome sight. Jenovah sighed in relief and placed an index finger on his own lips, signalling for Victor to quiet down.  
He pointed towards the top of the hill, and the disappearing figures, then spoke in a hushed tone, "I saw three men take someone up there. Two of 'em were definitely Khans... the other one had a Vegas accent. I think they're planning on killing the girl."  
Victor fell silent and nodded, silently moving up the hill with Jenovah. While he moved in closer, Victor stayed out of sight, waiting for the men to leave. As Jenovah neared the group, he could discern some of their chatter.  
"...put up quite the fight," the man in the tuxedo said, crouching down before the woman and grazing his hand over her cheek, whispering something to her, then rose and wolf-whistled, "Real shame that bomb knocked you out."  
"Stuff it, Benny," the woman seethed, her glare sent shivers all over Jenovah's body, "Just get it over with already."  
"Now, now, Nicolette, that isn't any way to talk..." Benny, as he had been called, sighed and loaded his gun, "Damn shame we have to kill you, Kitty." He paced in front of her, in one hand he held his gun, in the other he held a small, circular object, "But... we can't let you live with the knowledge you have."  
The woman didn't resist or plead, she stared coldly at Benny and a look of contempt crossed her face, as if she wanted to die. Her crimson locks fell loosely from the messy bun it had been pulled into and framed her face perfectly. Her iridescent green eyes swam with guilt, anger and joy. Jenovah found himself enraptured at her courage and her beauty; never had he met anyone like her.  
Benny aimed his gun at her head and fired, "Goodbye, Kitty." Jenovah stifled his gasp and watched in horror as the other two dragged her into a shallow grave and tossed her in, gradually covering her. Benny looked at the circular object in his hand and sighed, "Damnit, Nicolette... why'd it have to be you..."  
It took the four Khans no less than two minutes to cover the woman's body. They turned towards Benny and sighed. The dark haired one pat Benny's shoulder almost sympathetically, "Sorry 'bout the girl, but she chose the wrong team. At least she's dead. Won't suffer much."  
Benny shrugged the man's hand off and walked back down the hill, his eyes hidden behind his shades, "Still doesn't change my feelings for her..."  
Their voices vanished into the distance, and once their shapes were gone, both Jenovah and Victor rushed towards the shallow grave, digging it up as fast as they could. Even though Benny had shot her in the head, an always fatal wound, something forced Jenovah to continue, that she was still somehow alive. As soon as he could wrap his arms underneath her, he scooped her up into his arms and hurried towards Doc Mitchell's place, Victor hot on his heels.  
Never had he run as fast as he had that day, with the red head clinging to her life. He stopped outside the doctor's house and kicked at the door with such fervour that he feared if Mitchell didn't open it soon, he would kick it down.  
A muffled grunt came from the other side, followed by thundering footsteps, "What in the blazes are you thinking!? It's the middle of the night! And stop kicking! My door can't handle that much!" To say that the old man sounded furious would be the understatement of the millennia. The door swung open, revealing the red-faced Doc Mitchell, "What the hell, Jeno-"  
"Help her!" Jenovah was surprised by the urgent and panicky tone of his own voice. He looked down at the woman's unconscious form and stepped into the front door, whether the doctor wanted him to or not.  
Doc Mitchell's red face turned ashen and serious. He took the limp form from Jenovah and rushed her to the back of the house, towing Jenovah along, "How long ago?"  
"Three... Four minutes at most," he answered, his eyes stuck on the pooling crimson that did not match her hair. If it weren't for the blood, he would have thought she was sleeping.  
"Probably saved her life," the doctor muttered and placed her down on the medical bed. With swift and deft hands he stripped her down to her undergarments, wasting no time to clean the wound, "She's still bleeding... good... Get out!" While he kicked Jenovah with one leg, he pulled his other into the medical garb, preparing to operate.  
And with one final glance at her dying form, Jenovah left, sitting on the front porch and waiting for any news. Time seemed to slow down, and he lost track of time, merely staring at the sky. He watched as it went from dark indigo, to mauve, to crimson, peach and finally, cyan. It wasn't until Doc Mitchell pulled him out of his thoughts that he realized just how long he had been staring at the sky. He faced the doctor and sighed in relief at the look on his face.  
"She'll live..." Mitchell began, trailing off for a moment, "...but I won't know the full extent of the damage done to her mind until she wakes up... if she wakes up."  
Had he taken too long to save her? What if he had acted sooner, would she have come out unscathed? He was a yellow-bellied coward, and if she didn't make it because of his cowardice, he would regret it for the rest of his life.


	2. Chapter 1: And so it begins

**A/N: Yay! Finished another chap! I hope this one's good, or better. So, read, relax and review. :)**

Chapter 1: And so it begins...

19 October, 2281

"How long before she wakes up?" This was a voice she could not recall, nor the one following it.  
"Patience, Jen, she'll wake up when she's ready."  
"Fine... just... call for me when she wakes up. I need to catch some sleep."  
"Tell Victor to stop by here once he's done investigating."  
"Sure thing, Doc."  
Footsteps followed and she became increasingly aware of a thundering headache. She tried to open her eyes, to move her arms, but the best she could do was twitch her fingers. "Hey, easy there. I see you're waking up. Take it slow and steady. You've been out cold for over a week now. Almost thought you were a goner."  
She tried to move her lips, to ask where she was, but all that left her throat was a raspy breath. "Whoa there. You haven't used any of those muscles in over a week. Take that and the damage you took to your head... Just... don't rush it kid."  
"Not... kid..." she rasped drily, inching her eyes open just enough to see light. Any detail was lost to her, and she closed her eyes once more, "...Water..."  
"Sure thing." Footsteps followed soon enough, growing fainter as he moved further away from her. She heard a metallic click and somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered being shot. The footsteps returned and she felt a bottle being placed in her hand. "Can you open it?"  
The feeling in her arms and legs was slowly returning, and quite flimsily, she flopped her arm over her side and unscrewed the bottle top after many failed attempts. Shakily, she heaved the bottle towards her face, gulping down all the water inside. It tasted strangely refreshing, and she sighed, "Thank... you." Her voice sounded clearer, and less raspy, than it had before. Gingerly she opened her eyes, squinting at the bright stabbing pain the light caused. After a moment, her eyes adjusted enough for her to see, but what she could see was blurred and messy. "Can't see... well."  
"You haven't used your eyes for the better part of a week," the man said from beside her, "You're bound to have blurred vision for the next few hours. As long as you don't strain them too much, or use glasses, they should fix themselves."  
She nodded glumly and sighed, "What happened?"  
The man fell quiet for a moment, "You don't remember?" She merely shook her head, "I don't know the full story, but all I know is that you were shot in the head. Pretty nasty wound. I'm surprised you even survived past surgery. Guess there was bound to be some side effects..."  
She frowned and shook her head, she had been shot? Then the gun she had seen earlier was a memory. A thought crossed her mind, "Who found me?" The more she used her voice, the clearer it became. The thought lulled her into assurance that she would recover, for better or for worse.  
"Oh, Jen and the ole Securitron, Victor," he replied, and as she looked at him she could faintly define white hairs around his jaw and head, that, coupled with his voice, confirmed that he was elderly, "They dug you up, and Jen ran here faster than a Gecko after a Cazadore, nearly broke my door down."  
She frowned and thought back to the sensation of being scooped up; was that Jen? "If I may, where can I... find them? I would... like to... thank them." Her speech was improving further, and she couldn't quite help the faint smile of relief that crossed her features.  
"Well, Jen lives in the spare room of the local town bar, Prospector Saloon, and Victor mostly keeps to himself, but you should find him in his shack at the edge of town," he answered, then turned around and rummaged for something, then spun around once he had found it. He placed the mirror in front of her and held it there, "Don't know if you remember what you looked like, but I hope its close enough. The damage you received made it difficult... so, I did what I could."  
She stared blankly at the face that stared back at her. Dark, crimson hair that barely reached past her shoulders, curling ever so slightly at the tips and forming wavy patterns as it went further up. Iridescent green eyes, with spatters of yellow and dark green ever so faintly splashed in the lime green, and over her left eye was an old and faded scar. In the centre of her forehead sat a nasty wound, held in place by surprisingly neat stitchwork; it would leave a scar in due time, that she was sure of. Freckles covered her nose and cheeks, and as she looked downwards, her shoulders, arms, abdomen and legs. Many of her features were fine and sharp, and clearly feminine. She ran a hand over her tanned cheek, and sighed. This was her face. She had grown up with it her whole life long. How could she not remember it?  
"I... guess it's what I used to look like..." she mumbled, handing back the mirror, "You don't happen to know my name... do you?" When she looked back up, she realized that her vision had cleared up a little bit, as she could now make out finer details of the man in front of her. A smile split on her face and she chuckled, "Vision's getting better."  
"That's good to hear," he smiled in return, his brown eyes filled with kindness. A frown crossed his brow, "Sorry, lass," he sighed, "If anyone knows, it'll be Jen... My name's Mitchell, by the way."  
She smiled vaguely and looked down at the floor, "Guess I should get up... catch up on all the stuff I missed." Gingerly, she began to sit upright, with the aid of Mitchell's firm, but gentle, hand on her back. "This is so humiliating... Can't even sit up without someone's help..." she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and clenched her jaw.  
"I've had to deal with worse," Mitchell chuckled from beside her, "Besides, you've got a good excuse; you took some lead poisoning to the head."  
" _Some_?" A half-hearted chuckle left her and she pressed her feet against the floor, slowly placing pressure on them as she rose. The world spun around her, and if it weren't for Mitchell''s firm grasp, she would have stumbled back onto the bed. She stood there for what felt like eternity, and finally the dizzying effects wore off. When Mitchell's hands left her, she panicked and looked at him, watching as he walked to the other side of the room, "Please... I... I can't do it..."  
Mitchell smiled reassuringly as he spoke, "Listen to me; take it slow and steady. There's no need to rush; you can take as long as you like." He continued to smile as she looked hesitantly at her wobbly legs. Just standing was testing her strength; what would walking do to her?  
Biting down on her lower lip, she placed one hand on the bed and raised one foot from the floor, only to slam it back down when she nearly lost her footing. She was sure that the doctor was laughing at her, at how pathetic she was. "I can't. I'm fucking useless..." Her nose stung, and her vision blurred once more, but not because it was worsening. She wiped away at the traitor tears and sniffed, "How pathetic can I get?"  
"Hey, don't give up just yet," he called, taking a few steps closer, "Don't tell yourself that you can't. Just do it and don't think about anything other then getting here." He smiled once more at her, and this time, she returned it.  
She _was_ going to get to the other side of the room without falling. She _was_ going to find Jen and ask her what she knew. She _was_ going to find whoever shot her in the head and kill the son of a bitch. She clenched her jaw and her fists, took a deep breath and began the pain painstakingly slow and agonizing journey across the room. After each step she paused, hissed and seethed at the sharp pains that ran up her unused legs, bit down the pain and took another step. With each step she grew nearer to her destination.  
Pausing to take a deep breath, she looked up, and came face-to-face with the wall. She had crossed the room? Looking back, she saw the bed she had started at, and Mitchell's kind face beside her. "I... I did it!" she couldn't help the cry of victory that left her. She had expected only to make it halfway, but here she stood, at her goal.  
"See? And with enough time, you can travel further," he spoke and lightly pat her shoulder. She glanced over at the window and noticed that the bright rays of the sun had begun to dim. How long had she taken? As if reading her mind, Mitchell gazed outside, "It took ya a while."  
She nodded solemnly, her high spirits low once more. Even if she could cross a room, it had taken her too long to do so. She hung her head and leaned against the wall, the strength she had possessed earlier had vanished. Mitchell placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and draped her arm over his neck, helping her back to the bed, "Rest up now. You've got a lot of recovery time to catch up on. I'll bring you some food."  
He turned and left, vanishing deeper into the house. She watched him leave and once he was gone, turned her gaze to the window, staring at the setting sun. It was beautiful to watch the colours shift and change; from blue, to peach and orange, to red and mauve, and finally, indigo and dark, dark blue. She noticed the distinct smell of food and looked to her side, where Mitchell had neatly set a plate and eating utensils down on a table. When had he come?  
She found herself smiling as she took the plate and utensils, digging into whatever it was. The flavours burst along her palate, as if tasting food for the first time. Little moans of joy and pleasure left her throat involuntarily as she took another bite. Whatever Mitchell had served her, it was exquisite!  
Within no time flat, she had finished the meal and placed the plate back onto the table. Her gaze shifted towards the stars that peeked through the window. She _was_ going to get better. She sat upright and swung her legs back onto the floor, gingerly rising once more. With a deep breath, she began to walk...

Jenovah paced along Mitchell's porch, waiting for the elderly man to open the door. It had been a week since he found the girl, and yet she was still in a coma. Every day that passed by that she didn't wake up made the guilt weigh down further on his shoulders.  
Before he could ponder any further, the door opened and Mitchell stepped aside, waiting for him to enter. Jenovah rushed inside and moved towards the make-shift med-bay Mitchell had made. He looked at the peaceful look on the girl's face and sighed. If he hadn't known what had happened to her, and if she didn't have the nasty wound on her forehead, he would have thought she was merely asleep. But that wasn't the case.  
"How long before she wakes up?" he turned to face Mitchell, who stared at her form with a troubled look.  
Mitchell looked at him and smiled reassuringly, "Patience, Jen, she'll wake up when she's ready."  
He sighed and looked back at her form, "Fine... just... call for me when she wakes up. I need to catch some sleep." He had barely slept during the passing week, unable to dream of anything other than the moment he saw her get shot. It replayed over and over in his mind when he began to drift away, forcing him to wake up.  
Mitchell gave him a knowing look and pat him on his shoulder in friendly manner, "Tell Victor to stop by here once he's done investigating."  
"Sure thing, Doc," he said and left the house, charging for the Prospector Saloon as fast as his feet would allow him. He needed a drink, and he needed one now. Maybe then he'd catch some Z's. As he stepped onto the porch, he greeted old Pete, and entered the saloon. Cheyennne barked happily as soon as he set foot inside and bounded towards him, rubbing her head affectionately against his legs. "Hey there, Chey. Sunny." He nodded his head curtly at Cheyenne's owner, who returned the gesture.  
He and Sunny never quite got along, not after her sister died. It seemed that her sister had been the only thing that had kept their friendship intact, and after she had left, the seams began to wear away, until they barely even spoke to one another. He moved over to the bar and held out twenty caps, "Evenin'."  
"Mighty early for you to start drinking, Jen," Trudy said, scowling at the caps in his hand, yet nonetheless, she took them and poured him two shots, "What happened wasn't your fault. If you jumped out, you might've both died. Being brave and being stupid are two different things, Jen."  
"I know." He loved Trudy like he would his mother, but sometimes that woman could get on his nerves. He knew she meant well, but her words meant as much as they did the first day; absolutely nothing. It was _his_ fault for not _trying_ to save the girl's life, and now she was in a coma, most likely never to wake up. No amount of words, no amount of condolences and wishes were going to make him feel any better. In a matter of seconds he downed both glasses, feeling the familiar burning sensation of alcohol as it moved down his gullet.  
From the corner of his eye he saw Sunny sit down next to him, "Four. Two for me, two for him." He glanced at her, and in that moment, she glanced back at him and smiled vaguely, "I know that look. I'm not going to say or do anything. For old time's sake."  
For a moment he could forget that their friendship had ended, that even after her sister had died that the two of them had remained the best of friends. That moment ended when her smiled faltered and she downed her shots. He looked at his and downed them as well, "For old time's sake? I don't remember us drinking when we were twelve."  
"Promised you I would buy half your drinks, didn't I?" she chuckled half-heartedly. Cheyenne sat between their seats, her big, brown eyes moving from Sunny, and back to him, her tail wagging excitedly.  
He looked down at the four empty glasses and smiled, "I don't remember two being the half of two. Maybe the alcohol's already affecting me, or you've been drinking some of Trudy's moonshine while no one was looking."  
She playfully punched his shoulder, "So I gave you one extra... what of it? You looked like you needed it." He rolled his eyes and watched as she ordered another round, arching a brow at her actions, "What? Like I said, you look like you need it."  
"You said 'looked'," he commented, but argued no further as the next round came up.  
The night passed swiftly, and he soon found himself laughing, despite his inner turmoil. Sunny seemed to be enjoying herself as well. Everything seemed all right, as if nothing bad had ever happened. Trudy had left by the time Sunny finally noticed that night had fallen, "Is that the time? I guess what they say about having fun is true. Time really does fly."  
Jenovah cracked a genuine smile and hugged her, "Thanks... for everything... and... sorry..." Sunny relaxed into the hug, and swiftly returned it. "We should do this more often."  
"Get drunk?" she chuckled, but something about her voice sounded different. He pulled back and noticed that she was crying, her jaw trembling ever so slightly, "Jen... when my sis died... when... Allison died... I pushed everyone away; my parents, the town... you. That was the biggest mistake I made. It cost me a lot. Don't make the same mistake I did. I know you feel guilty and responsible, but there was no other way it could have gone. So... don't mope about it. I'm sure she'll wake up, and she'll be fine. Confused, maybe, but fine nonetheless."  
Seeing this side of Sunny had utterly stunned him. He stammered for words, but found that he had none. What she said was true, and he knew it. There was no denying it. He looked away shamefully, then glanced back at her, "Thanks for the pep talk..."  
She smiled and rose to her feet, "No problem... Just try to remember it?"  
He chuckled and waved her off, "Yes, yes. I'll _try_." Both of them cracked a smile and laughed, saying their farewells. When Cheyenne and Sunny disappeared, his shoulders sagged. Try as he might, it was one of those things that was easier said than done. He rose and walked to the spare room, falling onto his bed rather unceremoniously.  
After his house had been wrecked during a rather bad sandstorm, he moved in at the Saloon. While he had no cash to pay rent with, he made up for it by doing chores around the place, helping Trudy out here and there. He set his room up in the back of the saloon, where Trudy also distilled her moonshine. It had been six years now. Six years of a rather uneventful, regular life. Six years all ruined in one night.  
He tossed and turned in his bed, until he had finally found a comfortable position. Hoping for the best, he shut his eyes and lulled himself to sleep. But, in mere moments, he saw Benny again, with Nicolette on her knees before him, the gun against her head. He tried to run towards her, to stop him, but the Khans who traveled with Benny held him back, forced him to watch as the bullet tore through her head, as her body fell limply to the ground.  
With a gasp he woke up, covered in sweat, heart racing. He kicked the blankets off and noticed that the sun had already risen. At least he got some sleep in. He rose and moved over to his locker, cleaning off the sweat as best he could and pulling on new clothes, tossing the previous set in the corner. He was about to leave his room, when someone else opened the door, "Ah, there you are. Young lass looking for you. Said it's urgent."  
He frowned at Trudy and tilted his head, confused. Who would be looking for him? And from the look on Trudy's face, it was clear that she didn't know who this woman was. So, who the hell was this person? He nodded, "Thank you."  
Squeezing past her, he entered the saloon and noticed a young woman in a Vault 21 Jumpsuit fiddling with the Jukebox, her head obscured behind the old pre-war baseball hat she wore. Seeing as the only other people in the saloon were locals, or male, he approached her. It became rather clear that she did not notice his presence as she continued to fiddle with the Jukebox. He cleared his throat, and the woman spun around to face him.  
His body froze and he looked at the familiar face. Iridescent green eyes, cherry hair, freckled skin. It was her. She was standing right in front of him. "You're okay..." a wave of relief crashed over him, washing away the guilt that had racked through his body.  
"Uh..." she looked at him, then frowned, "Who are you?"  
He was taken aback, but then again, she hadn't really seen his face, "Uhm... it's me. Jenovah. The guy who found you." A blush crossed her cheeks and she seemed flustered, her mouth forming an O shape.  
"I... I thought you were..." she trailed off, wringing her hands together and avoiding his gaze, "I... It's just that everyone calls you Jen... and I thought... you know..."  
Realization washed over him and he smiled, "That's okay. I tried to get them to call me by my full name, or at least something more masculine, but it seems they're more stubborn than a Bighorner."  
A relieved look crossed her face and she smiled, holding her hand out, "Thank you... Jenovah." He shook her hand and grinned, glad that she was alive, "I-if I may... I was wondering what could tell me about _that_ night..."  
"You don't remember?" she shook her head and he sighed. So she did pay a price for his hesitance. "How much?"  
"Everything... I can't even remember my name. I mean... I know it started with an 'M' or 'N', but that's it. Everything else is... blurred," she sighed and gestured for them to sit at one of the benches. He followed and sat opposite her, his hands folded beneath his chin, his elbows resting against the tabletop. "I was hoping you could tell me as much as you could remember... and that maybe that would help me remember in turn."  
He nodded solemnly, "Well, where should I begin?"  
"My name. Doc Mitchell said you'd know." She looked so fragile, so vulnerable. The mere thought of forgetting who he was made a shiver run down his spine. To experience amnesia of that degree was probably the worst thing to happen to anyone.  
He leaned forward, thinking back to what Benny had said, and spoke "I don't know if it was one of _his_ nicknames, or if it was your real name, but he called you Nicolette." She looked at him for a moment, her brows creasing ever so slightly, and then she beamed a smile.  
"Yes, I remember now. Nicolette. Nikki to my friends," she leaned forward, "Tell me more." He smiled and continued by telling her the events that had unfolded that night...

The night was uncharacteristically calm in Freeside, like the still before the storm. Magnus eyed the entrance to the Kings carefully from her seat behind the lobby, her feet resting on the top, her arms folded over her chest. The smell of whiskey, leather, cigarettes and wet dog filled the building; the iconic smell she had grown to love. To her it meant safe, it meant home.  
Pacer looked at her and sighed, "What's the matter, Mag? You don't sit like that 'less you're troubled." She glanced at him and shrugged, "Don't shrug. If somethin' bothers you, I gotta know 'bout it. Takes a lot to get you _that_ worried."  
"Just a feelin'," she sighed, and reached out for her bottle of whiskey, but stopped when the door swung open, bringing in a cold draft and the unwelcome stench of Freeside, and in stepped Benny with his chequered coat and white pants, cigarette in his mouth. "Damnit... Why do I always know when shit's 'bout to happen..."  
Pacer chuckled at her words, but narrowed his eyes at Benny, "Make it quick."  
Benny glanced nervously between the two Kings, then spoke, "I need a bodygaurd for the next few months. Might be less."  
Magnus narrowed her eyes further and looked at Pacer, "Call the King." With a mere nod, Pacer vanished in the back, and moments later returned with Rex and the King. Rex growled lowly at Benny, but stopped and whined. She looked at the hound sadly; he was dying a slow, painful death, and no one had the time or money to help him.  
"Benny," the King said curtly in a cold tone, his eyes narrowed, "What exactly do you want?"  
"I just need someone to guard me for the next month or so. Hopefully it won't be that long," he sighed and spared a glance at Magnus, "Preferably her."  
Magnus shot him a glare, "Don't think I'm the safer option."  
The King glared at Benny and gestured towards Magnus, "I don't really like the idea of 'lending' her. Not only 'cause she's the only girl, but 'cause she's one of the best we got. You better pick someone else, unless you wanna lose a limb or two."  
A cold sweat broke over Benny and he glanced nervously at the increasing amount of Kings, "Thing is... I know your guys too well. I only know her by reputation. And... I need the best."  
The King pursed his lips, his glare intensifying. Magnus released an exasperated sigh, " _Fine_! Here's the deal; anything happens to me 'cause of you, the Kings get to return equal, or more, damage. If this thing ends and all goes well, we let you live. Deal?" She looked at Benny, then back at the King, her feet now firmly planted on the floor. Benny didn't just ask for help, so whatever he was doing was going to cause trouble. It would be better if she went, rather than any of the others.  
The King hummed, then reluctantly nodded his head, raising his hand to silence the protests from the others, "It's her choice. She wants to go, let her. But Benny, if _anything_ happens to her..." He let the sentence hang in the air as twenty or more Kings glared at Benny.  
He nodded, gulped and backed up just a bit. Magnus rose to her feet, grabbed her whiskey and her rifle, and walked towards him, "So, we leavin' or what?" Benny spun on his heel and left. Magnus sighed, waved absent-mindedly as she left and sprinted to keep up with the clearly nervous man. "What's got your ropes strung up?"  
"Nothing..." he snapped, then glanced around nervously. Every little noise seemed to scare him, every movement caused him to panic.  
She grabbed him by his collar and slammed him against the nearest dumpster, pressing her face right in his, "Don't bullshit me, Benny! You're in deep, and now I'm getting dragged along. I damn well have the right to know what I'm getting myself into!"  
He glanced around, licked his lips and sighed, "It's not safe here. I'll tell you once we're at the Tops." Reluctantly, she let him go; if he wanted to be so secretive, then fine, but if he didn't tell as soon as they were at the Tops, she was going to pin him to the wall until he spoke.  
They stopped at the Strip's entrance, the Securitrons's guns aimed at her, "Halt! Unauthorized access."  
"Benny. She's with me," he said, standing between her and the Securitrons. A tense silence followed, and then the robots lowered their weapons.  
"Proceed." Benny nodded and the two of them entered the Strip. Even here he looked like something was about to jump up and shoot him.  
Whatever Benny was getting her into, by the look on his face, it was _big_...


End file.
